


New Form of Conversation

by feeisamarshmallow



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen, Season 3 Episode 5 President Evil, Veronica & Weevil friendship is my favourite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeisamarshmallow/pseuds/feeisamarshmallow
Summary: '“Sorry,” she says, meaning it, “I know you agreed, I guess it’s—I don’t like talking about myself.” She starts again, “I don’t want to force you to talk.”“Veronica,” he says intently, “you’re not forcing me. You ever think I actually want to talk about me, myself?”'How exactly did Weevil end up helping Veronica with her criminology project? Veronica and Weevil navigate their post-high school friendship, and the tricky forces that led to their current situations. Tag to 3x05.I started this ages ago, and always intended to finish it. However, I'm not sure when I'll ever add to it, but I'm happy with what I have so far, and thought what I have stands alone fairly well too.





	1. Chapter 1

“What’cha working on, V?”,

Veronica startles as Weevil sits down beside her in the cafeteria of Hearst College.

“My criminology presentation, although ‘working on’ is a pretty loose term.”

She closes her textbook and places her papers on top to make room for Weevil. Glad for an excuse to stop trying to write her presentation, Veronica continues the conversation.

“You on your lunch break?”

Veronica is not exactly sure how to approach her and Weevil’s post-high school relationship. At some point the need for mutual favours is going to run out and they will have to decide whether they are friends or not. Weevil is, Veronica thinks, a friend, yet making small talk with him seems odd and off-kilter. Instead of answering Veronica’s question, Weevil grunts affirmatively and picks up the piece of paper detailing the instructions for the presentation. His response surprises Veronica. Weevil, post-prison, is both harder and softer at the same time. Gone is the game of posturing—swaggering down the hallways and proclaiming his gang-leader status with a bored and menacing glare. He looks softer too, he has gained some weight, and traded his leather jacket for the standard Hearst maintenance uniform. But, soft is definitely not how Veronica would describe Weevil. If anything the look in his dark eyes is harder, unbreakable and inscrutable. He carries himself less with PCH king swagger and more with grim determination.

Their new form of conversation, one with questions meant to catch up, not to insinuate innuendos, somehow feels darker than their high school banter of double-entendres. Instead of teenage fire and rage, he conversed in a regular sort of manner, which on Weevil came across simultaneously as wary, world-weary and hardened.

“The socioeconomic conditions that lead preteens into a life of crime. Use at least three academic sources,” Weevil reads off her class instructions in the same slightly tired conversational tone he used to greet Veronica. Veronica meets his eye contact, surprised. Before she has a chance to comment Weevil continues, “Anyone from my neighbourhood would be ten times better a source than a book penned by some white old criminology professor.” He looks at her inquisitively, but keeps his tone level and conversational.

Veronica opens her mouth to mention not all of her professors are old and white, before realizing his point still stands. “Yeah that’s…” she starts, “it’s the TAs project—it’s kind of a silly… I mean it’s such a broad topic for only 10 minutes.” Veronica suddenly feels hot with shame. Here she was, paying to take a course to study the very same circumstances that kept her the student and Weevil in the Hearst Maintenance uniform.

Weevil simply nods like he understands Veronica’s babble about TAs and time constraints. Veronica blurts out, “Sorry,” at the same time Weevil protests, “it’s not silly.” Veronica fidgets with her pen between her thumb and forefinger.

“You don’t have to be sorry, V,” Weevil tells her, mild confusion written on his face. “It’s true,” he continues as he picks up his sandwich from his lunch, “it’s not a fluke that you’re here studying this stuff and I’m on parole.”

The pen in Veronica’s hand goes quiet as she turns her full attention to Weevil. Gone is the bored, disassociated tone, replaced with something akin to the attention he commanded as king of the PCHers. Except, instead of fake bravado and sneered innuendos, it’s just Weevil speaking the truth. Eli, Veronica decides, speaking the truth. Not Weevil the gang-leader, not Weevil the ex-con, just Eli.

He stops speaking, but Veronica maintains eye contact, letting him continue speaking if he wants; it’s the most like himself she’s seen him in any of their recent interactions.

“I mean, once you start it—stealing and stuff—it’s hard to stop. You’ve got power you know. And if you’re skilled at it, man,” he shakes his head a little, “it’s addictive.”

A moment of time passes, and Weevil abruptly breaks eye contact with Veronica, as if he has just woken up to find himself having a heart to heart with Veronica under the harsh fluorescent lights of the Hearst cafeteria. Veronica watches as the mask falls back over his face, and Eli becomes Weevil again.

In an attempt to lighten the conversation, and steer it back into either the realm of tried conversation or further back into overzealous innuendo, Veronica jokes, “you want to help with my project?” She gives him an overacted pleading face followed by a smirk, “you could be my audio-visual aide.”

Something about Veronica’s bearing or phrasing jolts them back into junior year. Veronica has her chopped hair once again, and Weevil is roaring around on his bike with his boys behind him. Weevil cocks an eyebrow suggestively, “Girl, I could be so much more than your audio-visual aide.”

Veronica fixes Weevil with her trademark look of repulsion mixed with interest. And then as if on cue, they both break into a smile.

“How much time do you have?” Veronica asks. The air between them has suddenly cleared. For a moment, they are nothing but two friends having lunch together. Weevil moves to check his watch, “twenty minutes.”

“You don’t have to help me,” Veronica reassures him. Though she would write a 30 minute report, she thinks, if it means she gets to spend time with not only Weevil, but Eli too.

“We’re just always owing each other favours, aren’t we?” Weevil smiles.

“I was going to work in the library tonight. Maybe order a pizza—perks of being an employee is that I’m allowed illicit food in the library.”

“And who’s the person you figure has to pick up after your illicit midnight snacks?” Weevil’s question should sound barbed and bitter, but instead it comes off good natured.

Their conversation wanders into other topics: the enemies Veronica has already managed to make, Keith, or as Weevil refers to him, the Sheriff. By the time Weevil has left to resume work, Veronica isn’t even sure he agreed to meet her in the library, and isn’t even sure she remembers him agreeing to help her in the first place.

~

Veronica heads to the library just after her late afternoon psychology class. The Hearst library is a tall, stately square building, made of white stucco and tall sweeping windows. The top of the roof comes to a peak over a vaguely belfry-shaped tower. Veronica orders a pizza from Cho’s pizza, explaining she would meet them in the faculty parking lot behind the library, before climbing the small set of the stairs. She nods hello to Stephen, who’s working at the help desk tonight, and turns to climb up to the third level where she knows lie an abundance of study tables. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Weevil materialize out of the shadows of the bookshelves.

“There you are,” he takes a few hurried steps to catch up to Veronica.

“You were waiting for me in the library?” Veronica looks at him incredulously.

“Told my boss there was a complaint about the library lights flickering off,” he shrugs, “beats unplugging freshmen’s toilets.”

“There was!” Veronica exclaims. “I submitted a work order like a month ago, but no one seemed to be able to fix it.”

“Only took a couple of minutes,” Weevil says nonchalantly. “Then I spent the rest of the time trying to see if there was anything remotely interesting and non-academic to read.”

“Any luck?” Veronica smirks.

“I found a couple of car magazines being used to prop up a table,” Weevil laughs.

“There’s a bunch of tables up on the third floor,” Veronica says by way of explanation as they climb the stairs. Weevil nods in agreement and Veronica realizes he probably knows the library just as well as she did. 

The library is typically about halfway to capacity on Tuesday afternoons, but the way the stacks are laid out, each table is only visible from a few others. Veronica and Weevil choose a table situated in the corner, window looking over the faculty out over the faculty parking lot to the right and rows of books behind and to the left.

“So we can see when the pizza is here,” Veronica gestures to the window.

“You weren’t joking about the pizza,” Weevil observes, settling himself into a chair.

“I never joke about pizza,” she deadpans, taking the chair opposite him. All of a sudden, it occurs to Veronica that she has no idea how working with Weevil is going to work. Veronica busies her hands by unpacking her her preliminary notes and books she had previously borrowed from the library. She takes a breath to attempt to explain what she still has yet to finish on her criminology report, when Weevil speaks, “so what’s the plan, V?”

His willingness to help still puzzles Veronica a little bit. Weevil talking about his life, and especially his past, was evasive at best. For all Veronica’s tendencies to pry and ask for favours, she had never asked he share any more of his life than he offered. Veronica understands because she herself doesn’t like to dwell on her past—Lilly, her mother—all people and events that wouldn’t change no matter how many times they materialized in words from her mouth.

Her hesitance is evident in her response, “Well, I have a sort of outline for my presentation—a couple journals have identified risk factors for teenage crime—I think I’ll base the presentation around that.” She stops to make sure she is making sense, to give Weevil time to leave if he decides he doesn’t want to help her anymore. Weevil has her fixed with his dark brown eyes, nods once with understanding. His body language is casual, but his eyes hold a mixture of determination and fondness. As if he wants to help Veronica not just as a favour, but as a friend—and wants to do a good job at that.

Veronica continues her explanation, more confidently, “the problem is all the books I read don’t seem real, you know? They categorize away all of the feeling. I know it’s an academic report, but I want it to feel like I’m writing a report on real people, not just the subject of some academic debate.” Veronica finishes, waving her hands in frustration.

Weevil lets out a quiet chuckle at Veronica’s frustration, “and that’s where I come in? A real person with teenage crime experience?” his tone holds no malice, only amusement.

“You got it.”

“What would you have done without me, Mars? Bet none of your new college friends fit the bill quite like me.” This time Weevil lets a little bitterness slip into his tone, though none is directed at Veronica.

“I knew you’d be good for something,” she reaches across to bump his shoulder.

He gives her an unreadable look—a product of Weevil’s leering suggestive glances, their new brand of tentative, honest friendship, and a small note of sadness.

“What are the risk factors?” he asks, determined again to work on Veronica’s presentation.

Veronica grabs her notes off the table to read out her careful writing, “um poverty, family history of incarceration, family instability, mental illness, community factors—that’s like a neighbourhood with a high crime rate, polarization, stuff like that.” Basically Neptune, she doesn’t add. Veronica keeps her gaze cast on her page, for although she was no stranger to a lack of money, splintering families and addiction, she still felt aware that her crimes had gone relatively unpunished. What was a college project for her, was Weevil’s life. More than that, she knew that he didn’t regret all of his decisions, and that Weevil the criminal made up a critical part of Eli’s identity. She didn’t know quite what to make of those facts.

“And you need examples?” Weevil clarifies, forcing Veronica to look at him. “Look, V, I won’t be able to do this if you feel bad every time you mention the fact that I grew up a poor Mexican and that’s probably why I spent time in jail when everyone else was on summer vacation preparing for college.” His voice is strong, but neutral, simply stating his life as it had played out. “Yeah, I did some things I wish I didn’t and some I don’t regret, but I did agree to help you. You’re not going to offend me every time you talk about teenage crime, V, you know I’m tougher than that. And you’re tougher than that.”

Veronica looks at him, mouth slightly opened, reminded of Weevil’s keen ability to read her thoughts and body language, and blunt ability to call her out.

“Sorry,” she says, meaning it, “I know you agreed, I guess it’s—I don’t like talking about myself.” She starts again, “I don’t want to force you to talk.”

“Veronica,” he says intently, “you’re not forcing me. You ever think I actually want to talk about me, myself?” he raises his eyebrows. “Most people see me and only see Weevil, ex-gang leader, ex-con. I am more than that. It’s a part of me, sure, even a big part of me, but it’s not everything.” He pauses, “how’s that for talking about real people?” he smirks.

“Much better than Dr. Martin Bell here,” she recovers and gestures to the first book on her pile.

“Pizza’s here” Weevil notes, turning his attention to look out the window.

Once Veronica returns from picking up the pizza, she is well aware she has to get started on her presentation. They each take a piece of pizza, using paper towel stolen from the bathroom.

“I guess we start from the beginning,” Veronica eventually muses, “so when did you… start?”

Weevil chuckles at her awkward phrasing but replies, “Well I stole my first bike when I was six.”

Veronica tries to keep her face neutral, but is unsuccessful in keeping her reaction off of her face.

“I don’t think we really thought of what we did as stealing,” he clarifies, “more like we wanted a new bike and so we took it—we knew it was wrong enough to not tell our…parents.” He pauses over the last word.

“Did you get found out?” Veronica asks, drawn into the story.

“Of course—I think Felix’s mom found out first,” Weevil looks reminiscent. “We tried to disguise it with kid’s tempera paint, wasn’t the most effective.”

Veronica can’t help but laugh aloud at the thought of six year old Weevil trying to cover a bicycle with finger paints.

The feeling of uncertainty and awkwardness Veronica had held at the prospect of completing her project vanished after Weevil finished telling that first story. They slipped into easy conversation, Veronica letting Weevil decide what he told and what he kept to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weevil and Veronica continue their conversation in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I was looking through old notebooks yesterday and I found more of this story that never made it on to my computer. it ended up inspiring me to add some more so here's an update (finally) after more than a year!

As they talk the conversation turns to more serious subjects. 

“The PCHers had this sense of belonging—you know. There was the fear and status and all that, but mostly it was having someone—friends—to have your back.” 

Veronica nods. “And to steal cars with.” 

Weevil cracks a smile. “Well and that.” He pauses. “That’s the thing. Yeah we did a lot of things that were not on the right side of the law, but we were all just kids. Same as—as much as it pains me to say—same as anyone, even the 09ers.” 

It occurs to Veronica that Weevil suddenly sounds a lot older than he is. They are only 19 but damn if they both haven’t seen way more than any teenager should. 

“Just wait a minute,” Veronica tells Weevil, “that’s a good quote, if you don’t mind me using it.” 

Weevil nods. “Probably can fit it under ‘Unstable Family Life’”, he points to her page where she has each of the risk factors neatly printed. “You don’t have a mom or dad, or both, you go looking for a way to replace it,” Weevil says seriously. 

Veronica is unsure how to respond. Neither one of them is strangers to the pain of losing a parent, but Veronica can’t imagine how she would have coped without her dad. The things about Weevil is, she doesn’t have to say anything. Of all the adjectives she would use to describe Weevil, introspective is not one that comes to mind. Yet here he is, a hundred times more comfortable talking about himself and his life than Veronica. He is poised, looking at Veronica, using the pencil he commandeered to point at the page. 

“Why are you helping me with this?” Veronica suddenly blurts out. “I mean, there’s having a heart to heart with friends and then there’s helping me on work you’re not even getting graded on.” She looks across the table at Weevil, head cocked. 

His face flushes with annoyance, probably frustrated by having to explain himself once again, before looking at her fiercely, yet sincerely. 

“Because I want to, V,” he says slowly, deliberately. He pauses in thought, and then continues, “and because I like it—this.” He points to the books. “I may not be an academic, but it’s nice to know that people care about this, I like making connections. Real people and all that. And it beats cleaning up after college students all day.” 

“So the PCHers, what did you guys, well, do?” 

Weevil raises his eyebrows. Veronica puts her hands up in defence. “I’m not trying to implicate you here, I’m just, she looks down at her notebooks. She’s not even sure if she’s asking because of her project anymore. “I’m just, well, curious I guess.” 

“I dunno, Veronica. What did you do with Lilly and Logan and that crowd?” 

She’s taken aback, for a second, at the conversation flipping around to her. At the pain that still comes when she reminisces about Lilly and her life before. But at the same time, there’s a relief that comes with relieving those memories, almost as if she can keep Lilly alive by talking about her. 

“We just hung out. Watched movies. Went to parties once we were a little bit older. Once we pranked Duncan—before we, uh, got together. Plastic wrap on the toilet, you know.” 

Weevil laughs a bit at that. “Always were a rebel, I guess.” 

“And Lilly would bitch all the time about her parents. Mostly she would rant and make dramatic statements like ‘when I’m in college the whole world will be my oyster, not like here when we’re stuck in Neptune.’” Veronica stops a minute to take in what she had just said. When Lilly got to college. Veronica was here now, in college. But Lilly wasn’t with her. 

“Too many people not still here.” Weevil remarks quietly, and Veronica knows he’s thinking of Felix, too. Felix and his brother Gus. Weevil’s grandma. Too many. 

“But sometimes,” Veronica continues after a moment, “Not often but a few times, she would get real silent and she would like, really open up to me. Cry even sometimes. Our friendship often felt superficial, but it wasn’t, it was real.” 

“Same thing really. Me and the PCHers. We’d play videogames. Work on our bikes. Get drunk as fuck sometimes and just like, I dunno, talk shit. Had to look out for everyone else in our neighbourhood too, especially the younger ones, you know? Our kid brothers and sisters and that. And me, I was the one to keep track of it all. When something’s gonna go down. Who I gotta keep an eye on. Who to cut some slack and whose ass I gotta beat to keep in line. Kinda like taking care of a bunch a needy children now that I think of it.” 

“It wasn’t superficial either though, it was real too.” He pauses, “that part I miss.” 

Veronica takes all this reminiscing in over a piece of pizza. Weevil is smart, she thinks. Of course she had always known this, but it felt like she had a new understanding or appreciation for him. Not smart in algebra, necessarily, although even that was likely more a product of his poor attendance and attention in other places. But in the way he sees connections, the way he took what life gave him and excelled. 

The leader of the PCHers, while certainly not the most law-abiding use of his skills, called for the same qualities as any other leader. The kind of shit that 09ers were taught to put on their resumes when applying for fancy internships: communication, interpersonal skills, confidence, leadership. Everything that college ate up on applications. Too bad Weevil couldn’t put that on his resume, like the student council presidents. Veronica snickers at the thought. 

“Watcha laughing at girl?” 

“The thought of you as student council president.” 

“Ah hell no, not my scene V.” 

“Really, how different is it from leader of the PCHers? Same skills, still leading people, making decisions. One is just a lot more acceptable on college applications.” 

At that Weevil laughs. “You know V, I never thought about it like that but’s it’s kinda true.” He laughs again and grabs a piece of pizza. 

“You know, instead of me just crediting you in the report, why don’t you come give my presentation with me?” Veronica asks. 

Weevil looks at, surprised. 

“Be my audio-visual aide?” She tilts her head, like high school, it feels like so many years ago. 

“You know I can never say no to you.” He thinks a minute. “Alright.” 

“It’s…” Veronica thinks for a moment. “You tell stories well. You explain stuff well. I don’t know if I could do it justice paraphrasing you.” 

Weevil smiles, genuinely. “Thanks V, really.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been really interested in why/how Weevil came to help with Veronica's project. They never seemed to discuss the past with each other (Lilly, their families etc.), so I always wondered if preparing for the presentation was the first time Weevil shared a lot of his life with Veronica. And I wondered what it was about their post-highschool (and post-jail for Weevil) relationship that made those conversations possible. This fic tries to make sense of all those questions (and make up for a sad lack of Weevil-centric fic).


End file.
